Page 142 of The Stolen Throne
With a terrible groan of stone against stone, Basalt leans over us, alarmingly close. Which is when I realize he doesn’t have two arms…he has many.
Not a garden-variety giant. A centimane. The massive hundred-armed creatures of legend from before even the time of the goddesses. This just gets better and better.
“Someone has been breaking our rules,” he says. “Getting by us unseen. Is it you?”
I inch back. “No. I don’t even know your rules.”
“Not you.” His gaze narrows on Tabra. “You. You have the scent. You’ve been touched by the dead.”
My head swims for a second, but before I can ask, Omma steps in. “Is it still in her?”
Basalt leans back. “No.”
I drop my head on a sharp breath. Thank the go—
“But she is not long for this life.”
I stumble back like his words could tip me over.
“She is damaged. Whatever deceased spirit possessed her was keeping her alive, and as soon as it was removed…” Basalt sits back up with more terrible rock-on-rock sounds. “I can smell the rot. Our burning lands will see her soon.”
Tabra drops my hand on a whimper.
“No.” I spin and crouch in front of her to take her face in my hands. “I’ll find a way to fix this.”
Her eyes swim with tears that spill over. “You can’t fix everything, Mer.” She takes a shuddering breath that shakes her whole frail body, then offers me a wobbly smile. “We can figure it out later. You have important things to do.”
As if saving her life isn’t important? Actually… I straighten. Maybe I could get an answer to healing her in there, too?
I rise to my feet, facing Basalt. “What are your rules?” No way am I risking breaking them.
“We have only three. The first two you know. Royal bloodlines only. No Soul Enfernae. The last is that visitors may take no soul but their own outside the borders of the lands.”
After my encounters with ghosts of Eidolons past, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the king has been the one breaking the rules. How did he pull his past selves out of their afterlives without this giant seeing or knowing?
That man is a sickness that just keeps giving.
“Souls are disappearing from our lands. My mate, Scoria…” He nods at the avalanche of rocks across from him. “She has gone to find them and bring them home.”
There’s a centimane wandering my lands, searching for runaway ghosts of Eidolon right now? A stark shiver leaves footprints as it tiptoes up my spine. How long until she finds the one who spoke to me?
Part of me wants to ask how Eidolon is doing it, but I worry that if I do, even knowing who took the souls will make Basalt bar my entrance. Let alone how easily he might mistake my curiosity for information gathering so I can do the same thing. I catch a glance from Omma, who gives a tiny shake of her head. Is she thinking the same thing?
I’ll tell him about Eidolon on the way out. “I promise to keep your rules.”
He puffs on his pipe, considering me for the longest time—so long that I wonder if he even heard. Then, finally, “Very well, young princess of Aryd. You may pass.”
60
The Gate
of Hells
He said I could take no soul but my own out of the lands. Just in case, I pull my amulet from around my neck and slip it over Tabra’s head. “She’ll keep you safe.”
If something happens while I’m gone, Bene will watch over her the way he has been me.
Tabra gives a little jolt and swings her gaze to Bene. “Wait. I heard that.”
